No Sleep Tonight
by chezchuckles
Summary: A Dash Companion. Third in the Sleep series. Only necessary to have read Dash Away.
1. Chapter 1

**No Sleep Tonight**

* * *

**a Dash companion**

* * *

_I got you on my mind_  
_And it's time to make you see_  
_So I'll just make this a little more obvious_

_-No Sleep Tonight, The Faders_

* * *

Kate just manages to get her keys out the moment Castle opens up their front door. She grumbles as her laptop case goes sliding, but she catches it and steps back in surprise when she sees his jacket on, Dashiell wearing his Yankees sweatshirt and in his daddy's arms.

"Where are you going?" she blurts out, her laptop case straining against her fingers, her feet throbbing in her shoes, hair falling in her eyes.

"What're you doing home?" he says back, looking equally taken aback.

"Uncle Mo made me knock off early," she says, wrinkling her nose for Dash and leaning in to kiss the boy's cheek. "Hey, baby. Where're you and Daddy going?"

"Eat, eat, eat!"

Castle gives a flickering smile. "Headed out for dinner, actually. You look beat. No wonder he told you to leave."

"Not only that," she mutters, dropping her case to the floor just inside the entry, stepping out of her shoes with a sigh. "He banned me from the precinct for the weekend."

Castle lifts his hand to her stomach, strokes two fingers lightly over her shirt with a quirk of his mouth. "Probably smart?"

"I feel useless, sitting at the desk while the boys chase things down. They don't need me there. I keep thinking - I should just give Espo lead on this case and let him run it. But then I'd be doing less than I already am. Still. . .I'm so tired," she moans, finally giving in and slumping into him.

Dashiell immediately leans for her, hand in her hair, one little finger in her eye, and she gives a soft laugh, lifts her head to look at her boy. Both boys.

"Hey, you should go take a nap," Castle suggests, a hesitance to his voice that makes him quickly clear his throat as if trying to get rid of it. "Take a nap. Dash and I will get take out and bring it back here, wake you for dinner."

Oh man. It's so tempting. It is so very tempting.

She reaches for the boy. "Want me to take Dash-"

"I've got him. He can wait forty minutes to hang out with you." Castle takes a step back, already untangling Dash's grip on her. She lets him, watches him stride down the hallway.

She's already shifting forward to chase after them when Castle calls over his shoulder, "Go to bed, Kate."

She halts.

Yeah. A nap would fix things.

* * *

Ah, now she gets it.

Go to bed indeed.

Kate shrugs off her loose shirt, unzips her dress pants, staring at the white box he's left for her on the bed. Wrapped with a red velvet bow and positioned on her pillow, elegant and tasteful and a reminder.

It's got to be his book, the advanced reader's copy. It's kinda their thing, ever since that first one. While he writes it, she waits; she delays gratification all year just so she can read it fresh on the printed page.

Kate slips an oversized shirt over her head, grabs leggings and tugs them on. She coasts her palm over her belly, curls her fingers around the bump as she crawls into bed. "Hey, BK. Thanks for hanging with me. I promise I'm gonna let you sleep now."

There's nothing in response, baby's probably already falling asleep - _good idea - _but she slides under the covers and puts the box in her lap, propped up against the headboard and relishing the moment.

It's the book about their Butcher case, so she's technically already read it. But he promised there was more to it - she hasn't seen the new ending, just the scenes that related to the resolution of Heat and Rook's case. The Carver, Castle is calling him here.

She's actually excited for it. She knows how it goes - both for Nikki and herself - so the dread that was present when she first read Castle's unedited manuscript is now long gone. Just anticipation.

It always impresses her how Castle makes Nikki Heat both so very much _Kate Beckett_, but also her own woman. Nikki starts in Kate but ends in Heat.

Oh, he'd probably like that. She'll have to remember it and tell him later.

With the book propped up on her stomach, she abandons the idea of a nap and dives into his novel instead.

She has the sexiest husband alive.

He writes her _books._

* * *

_It goes behind the firewall, gets eaten by the dark beast that Nikki keeps chained in her head.  
__Compartmentalized. It works.  
__But as Nikki looks over at Rook, she realizes it only works for her.  
__It doesn't really work for him._

A body lands hard on her knees and Kate startles, tips the book to see her giggling son sprawled on the bed. "Hey there, baby boy."

He crawls up towards her, and Kate slides a receipt in the book, opening her arms to him and dragging him up against her chest. His knee pushes into her stomach and she knocks it away, kissing his cheek in consolation.

"No climbing Mommy," she admonishes, turning her head to see Castle entering the room slowly.

He must see she's got the book, but he doesn't say anything about it. "Ready for dinner?"

"I love it," she says with a grin, even though the last passage is haunting her in a way she didn't expect, can't parse. "It's intense."

"Dinner's intense?" he says with a cocky grin, pushing off the doorframe to head for her.

"Your book. Don't be dense," she says, rolling her eyes at him. She wrestles Dashiell to the bed and holds him there, pushing on his chest to make him giggle breathlessly. Her son's hands clasp around her wrists, riding out the deep pressure, his eyes wide and adoring on hers.

"He's been craving it all day," Castle murmurs quietly.

"Julie said some days would be worse than others," she says back, hesitantly lifting her face to his. But he's okay, it seems. He's okay. That's good.

"We started a new game, didn't we, Dash?" Castle says suddenly, reaching in past Kate's pressing palms to snatch the boy. Kate watches with a grin as Castle tosses Dash up in the air, catches him, tosses him again. It's not far - he's almost two and heavy - but enough for the drag of gravity to make his eyes droop and his mouth fall open in a breathless laugh. Another thing Julie has taught them - but it's not a new game; she's seen this before.

Kate grins at them both. "So. What's your new game?"

"Tell Mommy." Castle sits on the bed again and drops Dashiell to perch on his thigh, his long body now curling up around his son's. She sees him whispering in Dash's ear to prompt him, and Castle's fingers are creeping up Dash's legs.

Dash is laughing now, his eyes following his father's trek, clearly loving whatever's about to come, but he manages to get it out between giggles. "Bear hunt. Daddy, bear hunt."

Castle's arms suddenly spring up around Dashiell and clamp around his torso like a vise - oh, or a bear trap. Kate laughs as Castle growls and squeezes Dash in his arms, pretending to put up a fight as he wrestles his bear to the mattress.

Dashiell giggles so hard that his face turns purple, and then Castle bounces him on the bed and lets him go. "I got a bear, Mommy. Look at that. He's just a cub, but he'll do."

Dash scrambles up and launches himself back into Castle's arms. "More, more. Bear hunt, Daddy."

Kate watches as they go through the whole elaborate thing all over again, grinning as Dashiell is left breathless and practically wheezing on his back. She can see the change in him already, how his body looks more relaxed, his shoulders at ease and no longer up around his ears, his eyes more willing to meet hers.

He doesn't scramble back up and throw himself at Castle this time either; he gets up and moves to Kate again, wrapping his arms around her neck and pressing his cheek against her collarbone.

"Aw, hey, wild man. You caught?"

"Caught."

"Only took two this time," Castle says, his voice soft as he reaches out to lay his hand on Dashiell's back. "Hour ago it was five. Thirty minutes before that it was twelve in a row."

"Deep pressure. If he craves it, Castle, then-"

"I know. I'm just saying."

She meets his eyes, but she doesn't see frustration. Just a lot of relief. She was the one who attacked this thing like it could be _solved_, and then had a bad few weeks where she broke down at the realization that this was for life. This week has been Castle's turn, but maybe he's coming to grips with it.

She tries to steer them back to happier thoughts. "The book."

He gives her a flashing look, almost shy. It's startling in its insecurity. She forgets sometimes that this is his greatest strength and his greatest weakness, all in one.

Or maybe _she_ is. She doesn't like that thought.

He clears his throat. "Yeah? You're liking it."

"Just started it. Didn't get a nap at all - had me enthralled. And I already know what happens."

He cracks a wide grin that splits his face, makes his eyes crinkle and her heart flip.

"Since your book prevented me from sleeping, you should feed me now," she says, pushing past the flutter in her chest to dig her foot in his thigh, get him moving.

"Feed me!" Dash yells from his spot at her chest, then lifts his head. "Feeeeeee-"

"Okay, okay," Kate laughs, jiggling him a little. "We got it. You're hungry too, wild man. Let's go eat."

* * *

Castle sets the kid in his new booster seat, trying it out again and hoping it'll stick. Julie said the old one probably didn't register with Dash, or maybe it was too smooth and plastic-feeling so he didn't like it. Something. They've got this blue rubber thing with corrugated grooves in the seat.

Dash seems to be able to feel it, to know where he is when he's sitting in it, or at least he does a lot better job at staying in his chair when they use it. Of course, at lunch today, he stood up and kicked it aside, then jumped up and down in his chair with his hands on the dining room table.

If Alexis had done that as a toddler, Castle would've thought she was nuts. Lost it. Had a break with reality. But it's just par for the course with Dash, and he's beginning to believe that it's also just a boy thing.

His mother says he himself was pretty rambunctious. He's learned a whole new respect for his mother lately, if Rick was anything like his son growing up.

"How's that, wild man?" he says, pushing down on Dashiell's shoulders as he settles him in the booster seat.

"Feed me!" he yells back, and then giggles, giving his father a sly look from underneath his flop of hair.

Kate passes behind them both, her hand first skimming Castle's hip, then moving to Dashiell's ear to give it a little tug. Castle catches her fingers and squeezes, but she shakes him loose to go get dinner.

The pregnancy has made her pretty hands on lately, but it's still his same old Beckett.

"Okay, buddy. Want some of the Pow chicken?"

"Pow! Pow!" Dash starts bucking in the seat, his whole body in a wave of excitement, and Castle presses down harder on his shoulders, a couple deep pushes that eventually communicate enough to the boy's sensory system that he settles down.

"I got it," Kate says from the kitchen, already with a kid's-sized plate in her hand - bright blue with trains, of course. "You get his milk?"

"Yeah," he says and moves to the fridge while she carefully arranges cut up pieces of spicy chicken and some fried rice from their Chinese cartons. The kid likes it hot. Beckett will eat the spicy chicken too, but it's a little much for him. If he wants to have any feeling left in his mouth, he'll stick with the sweet and sour.

Kate's already got the plate in front of Dash when he comes back with the milk. The kid has Pow sauce smeared on his fingers, his lips, one cheek - he's touching his tongue to the chicken with a grin. He asked their regular Chinese takeout place what ingredients they used in it, and Castle was horrified to hear it was habanero peppers and tabasco sauce mixed with something he couldn't translate, but sounded like fire.

And Dash eats the Pow chicken one right after another, licking his fingers and going back for more. No wonder the kid was thoroughly unimpressed with Castle's tired old pasta and chicken routine. Poor thing. He's been eating cardboard his whole life.

"No Pow chicken?" he asks Kate, noting that her plate is empty of the stuff. She usually digs in right along with him.

"Uh, no," Kate laughs, giving him an eyebrow. "BK can't handle it."

"Ah, good. Girl after my own heart."

Kate's smirking at him now, but it's that faintly tender one that he's been seeing more of lately, like she's been caught unaware and can't hide it.

He averts his eyes, as if she needs her privacy, and goes to fill up his own plate with sweet and sour.

* * *

She shoves him out of the bathroom. "You go - do. Whatever. I got this."

Except this is the part he likes, bath time and sleepy Dash and the snuggling. Kate does too, of course, and he'll let her have it, but she seems to think he needs time off or something. She keeps taking over duties when she's home like she doesn't want to _burden_ him.

"I want to-"

"I've not made it home for dinner all week," she says softly. "I can do this. It's not-"

"But I want to, Kate." He wraps his fingers around her wrist and tugs her hand off the doorknob, glances past her to the filling tub. "I like it, more when you're here too. We'll do it together."

She blinks, startled, but she smiles at him. "I didn't think of it like that."

"He's a wild man in the bath, but he's fun."

She grins wider. "He _is_ fun. And really, a lot less wild now that we know. It's made - all the difference to me. Figuring him out."

He swallows past the tightness in his throat, the burn of gratefulness, but he nods and nudges past her into the bathroom. He grabs the bubble bath from the cabinet and shakes it at her. "We've been doing this. It's bright green when you pour it in, but makes clear bubbles. Dash loves it."

Her smile drops a little and he curses himself for rubbing it in, how she's not here, how she misses bathtime so much, but he didn't mean it like that. Yeah, last April he was behind in his writing and he let things get out of hand, but it's not like that now.

"Are you-" she starts, but he reaches out and snags her fingers, shaking his head.

"I'm good, Kate. Book's written. Done. I've got ages before I have to think about the next one. Till BK's born at least."

"Ages, huh?" she grins, then lifts to brush her belly against his, kisses his mouth with a light press of her lips. It's hot for all the ways it's _not_, and he wraps his arm around her and takes more, massaging two fingers up the knots in her neck until he tangles in her hair.

He feels her hands curl at his hips, stroking, and breaks slowly from her, breathing in the humid air from the water roaring into the bath, caught by the hunger in her eyes.

"Dash," she chokes out. "Too quiet."

He startles away, surprised by how intensely she wants him, and by how avidly he responds, and then he goes looking for the wild man.

* * *

She knows Castle is watching from the doorway, and that's fine. She loves this moment with Dashiell, rocking in the chair under the window. They moved his crib so that the light doesn't fall on him anymore, so now the chair is where the crib used to be.

She cradles the back of his head, her fingers at the nape of his neck, her thumb ranging behind his ear, but she keeps that firm pressure at his back with her forearm, giving his body the constant feedback it needs to finally relax.

"Castle," she murmurs, and the darkness shifts, resolves into her husband as he comes inside. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me," he laughs softly, but he does come and sit at her feet, his back against the leg of the crib. "We should convert this into a bed soon. Before BK gets here. Give him a chance to get used to it."

"Hm," she agrees. But not tonight. Dashiell picks up his head from her chest, heavy with sleep, and she feels the brush of his soft hair through her fingers as he turns to look at his daddy.

Castle leans forward as if the two of them are communing in some telepathic way. Kate eases her son's head back down, rocking slowly, and suddenly his body sags against her.

She's so startled that she pauses, caught unaware by how quickly he fell asleep, and she forgets to rock. Dashiell rouses at the cessation of movement and she curses herself for it, pushes back with her foot to keep going, but it's too late.

"It might take a while," Kate sighs, glancing over at Castle.

He nods, stands back up. "I'm just distracting him."

He leans over them, hands braced on the arms of the rocking chair, and he brushes a kiss to the top of Dashiell's head. She can feel Castle's hair at her cheek, and some instinct or urge has her angling to put a kiss against his temple before he retreats.

He goes still, and then his head turns to her slowly, his eyes black in the dark room. She's surprised by it, for some reason, surprised by both of their reactions, and that seems entirely ridiculous.

Castle pushes in and takes a kiss from her mouth, slips his tongue along the seam of her lips, not asking inside, just lingering. Still, she opens for him, lifts a hand from Dash to catch at Castle's ear, hold him to her for a deeper kiss.

He breathes hard against her mouth, his lashes tickle her cheek as he halts there. "Kate."

"When he's asleep."

She hears Castle's little growl and grins, but it's either not dark enough or he can feel it because he strokes his thumb down her neck, starting right behind her ear, that spot that makes her hips flex.

He smiles back as he stands, and she knows that he _knows_, and it's not even something she can hide.

Why does she _want_ to hide it? She married him, for goodness sake; he's gotten her pregnant twice now. Why does she feel the need to keep it all off her face?

_Compartmentalized. It works.  
__But as Nikki looks over at Rook, she realizes it only works for her.  
__It doesn't really work for him._

Kate stares after him, feels the restless urge to go after him, but Dashiell rubs his face into her chest and she has to do this first.

Ease her son into sleep.

Then figure out. . .all of this.

* * *

She can't sleep, and it's not just because Castle is draped all over her like a breathing, heated blanket.

Kate works one arm out slowly, untangles her leg from his, then slides out of bed, damp with perspiration. She slips on a tshirt and his boxers, which already fit snugly in a seriously depressing way, and then she heads out of the bedroom and into his study.

The Nikki Heat books line up like soldiers on the bookshelf right behind his desk, and she has to maneuver around the chair to slide into the dark space there. She runs her fingers over their spines and tugs the first one out of its space, lets the pages fall open naturally somewhere in the middle.

She skims standing up, looking for the slightly longer sections of Nikki Heat introspection. Of course, one of the reasons she loves his books are the distinct lack of emotionally fraught paragraphs; he lets the action show the reader exactly what's happening. The Hemingway iceberg principle, in some respects.

She's moving too quickly to dwell, but she does have a few favorite parts; she lets herself build into those moments and read them word for word before moving on. When she feels she's gotten a grasp on Nikki from that first book, she reshelves it and pulls out the second.

Her back twinges, a cramp flaring down into her legs, so she grabs all the rest of the Heat books and moves towards the couch in the study. She sits cross-legged and opens the second book, skims it as well.

It takes hours to go through them like she wants, and she's got to stop and trace her fingers over the dedications - _who said yes_ being one of her favorites but in such a melancholy way. Kate finds the paragraphs, just like in this latest novel, which give her the clues she needs to solve this mystery.

And even though she doesn't like what it says about her, what it says about him or their marriage, even though it should have been obvious all along and even though her insides feel sliced with a thousand cuts, every word bears it out-

Nikki can't possibly - at her core - love Rook like he loves her.

Or. If she does, he won't ever know it because Nikki Heat, like Kate Beckett, is a closed and locked door.

* * *

He's shoved violently awake by the jostle of the bed and a sound in the darkness.

"Dash?" he mumbles as he half-rises, but Kate is pressing a hand into his chest.

"No," she says quietly. "Just me."

There's a thickness to her voice that swamps him, but his exhaustion overrides intuition and he's falling back down to the pillow, curling on his other side to give her room, his back to her as the soft movements of the loft at night steal over him once more.


	2. Chapter 2

**No Sleep Tonight**

* * *

He wakes when the shower goes on, stays on his back in the bed and lets his mind idly drift to the ceiling, hover there while he comes to awareness.

When he rolls onto his side, there's a sleeping boy in his bed. He doesn't reach for the kid, knowing firsthand the consequences, but he watches Dashiell sleep, letting the sounds of the water in the bathroom and the slack face of his son keep him lulled.

The water shuts off and there's silence, the delicate production of stepping out of the shower, the towel, gathering her hair off her neck and ringing it out. He closes his eyes to better hear her as he lies face to face with Dashiel in the bed. He manages to make out the moment before she opens the door and turns his upper torso and twists his head to look at her.

She's brooding, that line between her eyes that meets the shadowed vein in her forehead as she steps into the room. But she sees him watching for her and flicks her fingers at him in good morning, moves to the closet for clothes.

Stark naked of course. He likes that best. She always hangs up the towel to dry before she leaves the bathroom. Or always enough.

He hums to himself and turns back to Dashiell now that she's hidden by the closet, and he must drift off or doze because when he rouses again, she's leaning over him to look at their son.

"He's asleep," Castle says quietly, trying to keep it that way.

"Good. He woke me at four."

"Ah, darn."

"But he fell back asleep," Kate shrugs. "And I didn't have the heart to move him." Suddenly she slaps his chest and closes her fingers around his bicep. "Come on. Get up. I wanna talk to you."

He can't help the startled laugh that pops out of his mouth, but he gets out of bed as quickly as he can and follows her out of the room. Jeans - the top button popped, and probably not zipped up either (she likes to hold them together with a _rubber band;_ silly woman, get maternity pants) - and a white v-neck tshirt. Her hair is wet and drying curly, crazy curly he likes to call it, and she leads the way to the kitchen.

He's still in boxers, but he snags his tshirt from the chair in his study and pulls it on over his head, comes to the bar stool with his brain still muzzy from sleep.

She squeezes his arm as she passes him, sets a glass of orange juice in front of him. He opens his eyes and tries to figure out if he fell asleep again when he sat down or if she had this prepared in advance.

Either one is likely.

"Drink this while I get coffee going. The timer didn't work - and it didn't work yesterday either."

"Need a new one," he agrees and downs the orange juice, hoping the sugar will wake him.

"Could do that this weekend-?" she starts, but he's already shaking his head.

"I'll just get the same one online. Oh, well, unless you want something different? I didn't think of that. Sorry. We'll go together. Somewhere. Get a new one-"

She's got an eyebrow raised, smirking at him, and he winds down, blinks at her.

"No, Rick. Go online, get the same one. That's perfectly fine."

He lifts a shoulder at her in a salute or shrug and knocks back the last of the orange juice. She's already managed to set everything up, and they both stand in silence - or sit as the case may be - while the machine goes through its routine.

"Okay, you're driving me crazy," he finally mutters, leaning back in the chair at the bar and watching her a moment more. "Tell me already."

She's got that preternatural stillness to her of the moment before a kill - a predator locked down and focused, intent on the poor dumb beast in her sights.

That would be him.

"I wanted to give you a chance to wake up first."

"Not gonna happen in the next hour, but you're making me edgy. So just - out with it."

She shrugs as if to say _your funeral_ and then she comes around the bar and sits beside him, a calculated move if ever he saw one.

But when she swings her chair around to face him, one arm curled at her stomach as their knees bump, he happens to see behind the careful planning to a desperation that has his heart pumping faster.

"Castle before - before BK gets here, I want to have some things. . .clear."

He sits back, counsels himself to keep his imagination firmly hobbled as Kate starts. She's patient in her delivery and that patience often unmakes him a hundred times over before she says what she means to say. He's got to be patient too. Wait for her to say it before he invents something worse.

"I've been. . .working out some stuff," she says finally, and her brow is creased already. She keeps her eyes on his knee where her fingers have begun to trace. "It's become clear to me that I'm not always great at keeping you guys priority, but I want to."

Oh, okay. He feels his body relax slightly, ease into it. A kind of confession? He can do that. All right. "I think you're doing just fine, Kate."

She studies him a moment more. "I want us to go to marriage counseling."

"What?" he startles, jerking in his seat with the force of her words. She's just sitting there, watching him take it, and he shakes his head, tries to clear out the rush of panic. "Counseling. I - ah - I thought we were good." His breath dies in his chest and he squeezes a fist to keep it together.

Her hand comes over his in an awkward touch that only makes his ribs contract painfully around his insides.

"Castle?"

He avoids her eyes, studies the way her fingers are still poised at his knee and tries to figure out when it got so bad. When did it get away from him? He's done everything - and she seemed fine, more than fine, what about _last night_, what was that-

Suddenly she's off the chair and pushing in between his legs, her hands on his thighs and stroking, her head ducking to meet his eyes.

"Castle, okay, take a breath, because you're scaring me a little bit here. Are you gonna pass out? Your face is white."

Maybe he is. Maybe he-

She's shoving his head down, maybe to put it between his knees, probably that, but instead he buries his face in her chest, her belly, and hangs on, his fingers digging into her hips, his mouth closed to keep it all back, in, suffocated.

Her hands run across his back, curl at his neck, her body firm and strong and holding him up. After a moment, she's pushing him away, sitting him up as she frowns.

"You've got some color back. But your lips are - Castle, you feel sick? Maybe you should go back to bed."

"Counseling," he gets out, shaking his head. "You want - we need counseling?"

Everything wipes right off her face, the blankness of her eyes scares him in a deep-seated way that makes his fingers clench at her hips, but in the very next instant, she's curling her arms around him and hugging him tightly.

"No, no. Oh my God. No. I - not like that. Not like that, shit. Castle."

Not like that. "Like what? What other reasons are there for going to counseling except last leg, gasping breath-"

"No, jeez, you're melodramatic." She's still holding on to him though. "For things exactly like this, you idiot. Communication."

He takes another long breath in, can't manage to unattach the associations he's made. "We communicate."

"Castle. Really."

"We do. I'm - don't you - I know I got behind last April, but we figured that out, and I think we're doing pretty good now-"

"Castle. What are you saying here?"

He opens his mouth, closes it. Tries again. "I'm saying this is coming out of left field for me. I'm saying that I thought we were good, Kate. I thought we were good."

"We are good," she insists, her fingers squeezing the back of his neck. "But Castle. Are you seriously telling me that you don't want to be better? That you don't want our marriage to be stronger than it is. That you'd rather us keep having moments like this one where you get sucker punched by what you _thought_ I said?"

He winces and scrubs his hand down his face.

"This morning I made us an appointment with a guy. It's next week, Thursday. He has office hours on Saturday, so I thought that might work out better for us. Or me, really-"

"You made an appointment already?"

She goes still, stares at him.

He closes his eyes, shakes his head. "You did it again." When he drops his head to look at her once more, she's still just staring. "Yeah; you're right. We need a damn therapist."

And then he gets off the bar stool, untangles himself from her, and goes back to bed with his son.

* * *

Passive-aggressive son of a bitch.

She drops her coffee mug in the sink and it clatters loudly, but she doesn't even bother righting it. If she wasn't pregnant, she might actually fight him. Wrestle him to the ground and get it all out.

So she made one appointment - he _knows_ this is how she works. He can't keep holding it against her, like she's caused him some damn mortal wound just because she likes to be prepared and get everything lined up before she goes into it.

And it doesn't help that she's got to drink _decaf_ all morning because of that stupid risk awareness thing he found online, about caffeine and the baby, and she has always kept within the proscribed amount, but then that damn study made her anxious-

She doesn't hate him, but she really really doesn't like him right now.

And of course, BK feels it. Great. _This time it'll be different_, she mocks herself, sliding out of the kitchen and heading up the stairs. They will never be different people; they will always battle at each other like this. Personalities don't change, and she's not sure why she ever thought something like therapy would even help at all.

She should've just kept her mouth shut.

But those damn books.

She startles to a stop in the upstairs hallway, the twist of her heart making her falter. She loves those books. She loves Nikki Heat, loves his words, but they are tearing her up.

She should've led with that.

What is she even doing upstairs? Both of them are down in her bed, stubbornly ignoring her, and there's only Alexis's unused room up here.

Which will be the baby's, soon enough.

Kate wanders inside, doesn't turn on the light, just lets the darkness of early morning steal over her. It barely even looks like Alexis's room, since she moved to Chicago. Kate sighs and heads for the bed, curls on her side on top of the covers.

She should've led with the books.

His own words, coming back to bite him.

In the darkness, she grins at that, hides her amusement in the pillow.

But still. There's an idea.

* * *

When he wakes up, the light is strong and intense outside the window and his son has disappeared. Kate's not here either, which he doesn't expect her to be, really, after that scene in the kitchen, but he should go find her and apologize.

Only he doesn't want to apologize. She did it again - she went behind his back and set things up and then sprung it on him and didn't even _ask_ him what he thought.

He can do research too. What does she think he'd do? Just hop online and book the first therapist he came to? He can-

Castle growls at himself and stumbles out of bed, heads for the bathroom and a shower. He knocks his knee into the doorframe and curses, rubbing at his eyes as he hops on one foot towards the toilet.

Ouch. Damn it. This is not his day.

When he goes to lift the lid, he sees something taped to it and pauses, startled so badly he forgets what he's doing.

What is this?

Castle leans over and pulls the sheet of paper from the toilet lid, folds down the tape automatically as he reads.

_what she always did was pause. Not long. Just the length of a slow deep breath. That's all it took for her to remember the one thing she will never forget. Another body waited. She drew the breath. And when she could feel the raw edges of the hole that had been blown in her life, Detective Nikki Heat was ready._

Castle lets out a startled laugh, flips it over, but there's nothing more. Just that quote from his first book, not even that well written, now that he looks at it again. He should've said-

Whatever. Can't go back and edit now.

Did Kate do this? Tape it to the toilet lid?

* * *

He finds the next one on the shower stall - the first introduction of Rook to the reader.

_She wondered what sort of karma payback it was for her to be saddled with this guy._

He doesn't even finish reading it - he knows the rest. It makes him wince, but it's cute too. She likes it; he knows she likes it. Why is she quoting his novels at him this morning?

Or late morning.

This is somehow about the therapist thing, isn't it?

* * *

In his closet, on top of his favorite pair of jeans. Like a double message - not only whatever the line from his book means, but also a statement from her that she knows his habits, knows he's going for jeans this morning and which pair he likes best, always puts on.

_At times like these, without the work to hide in, without the martial arts to quiet it, the replay always came. It had been ten years, and yet it was also last week and last night and all of them thatched together. Time didn't matter. It never did when she replayed The Night._

Is the therapy stuff about her mom?

* * *

He laughs again when there's another one - this time he went searching for it. He finds it on a blue dress shirt that he knows _she_ likes, so apparently she's choosing what she wants him to wear today. Cute.

_Nikki. . .let herself wonder what it would be like with Jameson Rook. What would he be like? How would he feel and taste and move?_

_And then the flutter hit her again. What would she be like with him? It made her nervous. She didn't know. It was a mystery._

Well, that's hot. Even out of context, it's pretty sexy. He remembers it well - Nikki Heat in her bathtub, thinking about Rook. What he remembers even more clearly is how he watched Beckett for weeks after she read the book, wondering if she maybe _did_ think about him in her bathtub, wondering how it was, and if he could possibly spot it, see the difference in her.

He can ask her now. Oh, how cool is that? He can totally go ask her. Where is Kate anyway?

* * *

When he goes into the kitchen, she's not there either. Huh. He takes a slow perusal of the space and finds another note taped to the coffee maker. Apparently he is more stuck in his routine than he knew.

Castle tugs off the index card and reads even as he opens a cabinet door for a coffee mug.

_Sex with Rook was always smokin' but did not always represent her better judgment, she reflected in hindsight. However, when they were together, thinking and judgment took a backseat to the fireworks._

Okay, well, this is getting less. . .fun now.

* * *

It's a near thing, but he manages to stop pouring coffee an instant before it almost ruins her next note.

He swallows hard, all the other index cards stuck in the back pocket of his jeans, and he fishes it out of his mug.

_In spite of herself, Nikki felt a tug on a level she didn't control. But then she thought, maybe she couldn't control the feeling, but she could control herself._

Yeah, this is getting distinctly worse.

* * *

Castle doesn't even finish his coffee; he takes a sip and goes looking for her, heading upstairs immediately. There's not many more places left, and for some reason, the idea of calling out to her is intensely disturbing.

He doesn't want to hear the silence when he calls and she's not there.

He finds the next index card on the middle step of the staircase, drops his hand from the railing to lift it and read.

_For better or worse, Nikki Heat knew how to compartmentalize. She had to. If she didn't put an airtight lock on her emotional doors, the beasts pounding on the steel plates to get out would eat her alive._

Okay, okay, so. . .she's using his words against him? She's pointing out all the ways Nikki Heat is a flawed and human character? What exactly is going on here?

* * *

Like a row of breadcrumbs, there's another index card on the floor of the upstairs hallway.

_They smiled and looked into each other a long time. Nikki was starting to wonder, What now? This connection they had just made was unexpected, and she wasn't prepared for what it might mean. So she did what she always did. Decided not to decide. Just to be in the moment._

Yeah, okay. So. . .he really does think that's true. And if he remembers right, in the next scene, Rook and Heat have sex - all about being in the moment. Which is exactly what Kate does; she affirms life and their love by going straight for his-

Ahem. Well. Okay. So Kate's figured out that he uses bits and pieces of her own pyschological make-up for Nikki Heat. Is this new information? Hasn't she always known he's using her as the entire basis for this whole series of books?

* * *

At Dashiell's door, another index card. He rips it from the wood and reads it in a hurry, his guts churning.

_That was the beauty of the wall Rook derided. Rook, grousing about her ability to compartmentalize when that very skill was what made her so sucessful at clearing cases in a whirlwind. She tried to put Rook out of her mind. What she did not need right then was distraction._

This isn't about the Nikki Heat books. This is about them.


	3. Chapter 3

**No Sleep Tonight**

* * *

He opens the door and she's sitting on the floor of Dashiell's room, the boy crawling over her with his train in hand, making choo-choo noises as he does. Castle glances to Kate and she's staring straight at him, with a laser-focus and an intensity that makes him pause.

He pulls the index cards out of his back pocket, puts them all together as he stares back at her.

"You see now?" she says.

"I don't know."

She regards him a moment longer, then curls over Dash and brushes her lips to his forehead. "Play trains, baby. Be right back."

When she stands, he takes a step back, and her face flashes a hurt that's quickly clamped down, pushed aside.

No distractions, right, Kate? She really is so very good at compartmentalizing.

She heads for him, pushes on his chest with her hand to get him moving and they both leave Dash in his room. They can't go far, really, because Dash will definitely destroy something if left along for too long, but Kate pulls him into Alexis's room and they stand by the door so they can see the hallway too.

"I finished the book. The latest."

He goes still, his mind working hard to figure out what in his book has disturbed her so much that she's asking for couples' therapy and leaving him cryptic messages. "I had you read it before I-"

She shakes her head and leans back against the door frame. "Not that part. It's not that. The Carver/Butcher stuff is fine. You know that. I'm glad you wrote that."

He nods once, but he has no idea now where she's going with this. Once again, he's _got_ to slow his brain down, stop imagining the worst, stop anticipating what she'll say next because it's definitely getting him in trouble.

He feels her hand come to his and her fingers tangle, both of them a little unpracticed at the hand holding stuff but getting better. The purposeful hand holding at least. Her fingers are so thin, cool and long; he likes how they wrap around him like curling threads. Rope. Tethers. Good things.

"Castle, it was the. . .you wrote something." He glances up and she's closing her eyes, reciting it now word for word. "'Compartmentalized. As Nikki looks over at Rook, she realizes it only works for her. It doesn't really work for him.'"

He drops his jaw, feels the other index cards in his hand, the stuff about Nikki. About Nikki. Not about his wife-

"It doesn't work for you, Castle."

"Kate. It's fiction."

She shakes her head. "It's enough not that I. . .there's truth in this, Castle. You've always done that - always managed to make the core of it be so very damn accurate."

He closes his mouth because when she starts in like this, intense and passionate and focused, it makes him want to leap. Leap right into whatever it is - into her - just let go and fall.

But she's talking about him. Them. He doesn't know what it means.

"It doesn't work for you, Castle. The way I work - it doesn't work for you."

He lifts his head, chest tightening like laundry twisting around a broken agitator, tries to find words past that, deny it, refute it. No. "You work for me."

"But not this," she says quietly. "We go at it differently, Castle. And somehow that's translated to you something I never intended."

"What are you - I don't know what that means," he admits, gives up. He's got to stop thinking he knows what she means, because it has become so very clear today that he has _no idea_ in so many more ways than that first one, that first case in which she warned and promised him _You have no idea_.

"When I take care of things, how I work, my way of communicating - Castle, you don't hear what I'm saying. You don't see it the way I see it. So I keep. . .hurting your feelings. I keep making mistakes and it doesn't even occur to me that anything could be wrong."

"You're not doing it wrong. That's what I'm trying to tell you. It's fine. We're good, Kate. I'm-"

"I love you."

"I know. I know you do," he insists, because somehow he can see in her eyes that she doesn't think he _does_ know, and of course he does.

"It's not fair to me either, Castle. Because you hurt me too. And this-"

"I. . .I know. I'm sorry. I-"

"Will you just be quiet for one second?" She growls at him but her grip on his hand is tighter; she pushes at his hips and he realizes he's unconsciously started to crowd her, as if he can dominate her, make her see it his way. "I'm trying to explain. Let me just. . .say this."

He nods, keeps his mouth shut even as he steps away from her. He's got to dial it down, cool off. She's not - they're having a baby, it's not like they're breaking up. His overreaction is ridiculous. Just. . .breathe.

She nods once, her eyes on him, and then her hand comes up and she presses her palm flat to his chest. She shifts closer, her touch light, and then her fingers are soothing at his sternum, little strokes that makes his shoulders relax.

"Okay," she says quietly. "Dash has a therapist so that we can better understand him. All I want is a therapist for us, Rick. So that I can understand you. And you can understand me. Because just like Dash, you need things from me that I don't even know about. And there are probably things I need from you that you don't know either."

He takes a long breath in and lets it out slowly. "I. . .I see that."

"My instincts were sometimes right about Dash, but sometimes they were wrong. Loving him doesn't make me magically know what to do."

"I get it," he says, nodding at her. "I see. I - I didn't know you. . .but I guess that's part of the problem."

She shakes her head, her eyes narrowing a little. "It's not a problem. It's just a different way of communicating, a different personality type - whatever you want to call it. I think so much of the time I feel guilty for not being able to - not knowing how. . .but I can know. It's not that I can't. I can be better for you, Castle."

He gives up on holding himself away from and wraps his arms around her shoulders, tugs her into his chest. "You are everything for me, Kate. All I need. I don't need you to be better-"

She struggles back, pushing on him to see his face. "You do. You deserve it, Castle. Don't get mushy and romantic about it. Sweet as it is to hear, it's not true. Please don't-"

He grips her arm. "It is true. Don't belittle my feelings just because you don't feel them-"

"No. No, no-" she cries, shoving on his chest, her face looking betrayed. But damn it, that hurt him too and she- "Stop it. Just stop it. I feel it too. How can you say that?"

He shakes his head. "It's obvious you don't, Kate."

"Shut up," she growls, and he can tell she wants to hit him, but she merely clenches her fist and her eyes glitter dangerously. "This is the issue right here. I left you all those passages from your own books because it's obvious to me now that you think I don't love you enough."

"What?"

"Read them." She grabs the index cards from where they fell to the floor and pushes them into his chest; his heart thunders underneath. "Read your own words, Castle. I can't compete with how you see me in your head. That's not me. And I don't know how to make you see that."

He glances down at the index cards, then back up, fingers tightening. "I don't - I know you love me."

"Enough? The same as you?"

He blinks. "Well. I - how can you compare-"

"I am in love with you. You hurt me just as quickly, just as easily as I hurt you. You are - what did you say? everything for me? Yeah, well you're everything for me. And just because I can't find the words on my own, just because I'm not a writer, just because I _can_ compartmentalize, doesn't mean you're in some box in my head. Doesn't mean I don't love you; it only means I'm loving you in ways you can't feel. So _help_ me."

He sinks back against the door, staring at her, and she takes a long breath in and pushes away.

He watches her go down the hall and disappear back inside Dash's room.

* * *

Her hands are shaking. She puts the wooden train track back together and lets Dashiell run his car over it. And then a truck, his face grinning up at her, amused with himself for not using the right vehicle on the tracks.

Leaving the room and walking out on that fight was probably not the best idea. But she can't figure out how to make him understand and it only makes her more and more frustrated, and he just shuts down when she's the bad kind of angry.

She thought the words from his own books would do it, would make him see the picture he's painted of her as this controlled, reserved. . .machine. She's not a machine. She-

Shit. She's emotionally compromised and just knowing that she _thinks_ in words like compromised when it comes to emotions means she definitely does block everything off. She does. She knows that, and he's mostly right about her and it just means they need outside help to understand each other-

"Kate."

She startles, her hand dislodging the train track so it topples over. Dashiell cries out and reaches for it, trying to save it, giving her a reproachful look.

"Castle."

"Come here."

She leaves the pieces of the train track to Dash and stands, but she steps slowly over the mess towards her husband.

"We'll go. You're right. I don't know. . ." He trails off and draws a shaky hand through his hair and at least there's that; it's made him just as frustrated and scared as she is.

He must see it in her face because his arm goes around her neck and tugs her against him, hard, and she realizes suddenly that this is another way they're different. She wants the chance to decompress and cool off and regain control and being in his arms is hardly ever about control at all.

But she stays; she keeps it together. Because she isn't a two year old boy who can't figure out what information is coming at him. She's an adult. And they can do this like adults.

His chin drops to the top of her head and he lets out a long breath. "I love you, Kate. All the good ways and all the bad ones too, the ones you don't feel as love either. And I know that you love me - that making an appointment with a therapist behind my back is a way you love me too."

She huffs a laugh at that because it's true, and his arm squeezes tighter in response.

"So yeah," he continues. "We need help figuring us out. Just like Dash."

"Me, me, me!" Dash cries from the floor, then hops up and runs to them, smacking into their legs and clutching hard at Kate's jeans, Castle's too, worming his way between them.

Kate leans over and scoops him up, grunting when her back twinges at her, but Castle is already there, taking Dash from her and bringing him into his arms.

"I got it," he murmurs to her and she lets go of her son.

Kate draws her hand down Dash's back, kisses his cheek. And then, on impulse, she kisses Castle too, a soft touch of her lips to his, and it feels good.

He hums and a hand comes up to her neck, but suddenly drops away. He's being hesitant with her.

"When's that therapy appointment? Can it be today?"

She gives him a smile back, shakes her head. "No openings till next Thursday. But I know a few ways you can love me right now that I definitely will feel."

He laughs, but his eyes darken and his hand comes back up to her neck, dragging her in close, Dashiell squirming between them to get down.

"I got a few of my own, babe. Let me show you."


	4. Chapter 4

**No Sleep Tonight**

* * *

"Did he seriously say we need to become detectives in the mystery of our marriage?" Castle laughs.

"Okay, it does sound. . ."

"Lame," he supplies easily, holding her hand as they cross the street. When he realizes he's doing it, he lets go, recognizing the draw of her shoulders up to her ears. "But, I get it. I think."

She laughs at him but takes his hand back, squeezing. "He did say we're on top of things. Better off than most."

"Because we figured out early on that we're hopeless? Great."

"He did not say hopeless."

"He very carefully did not say hopeless," he agrees. "It was just implied-"

She smacks his chest with their joined hands. "Shut up. We're not hopeless."

"I know," he says, smiling over at her, waiting until he sees her smile too.

"Although, I didn't need the tour of my limbic system," she murmurs with a raised eyebrow. "Because, really. Isn't it going to be completely screwed up while I'm pregnant anyway?"

He laughs at her, nudges their hands against her belly so he can stroke his thumb over BK. "Yeah, well, I did explain that you're far more self-controlled than most, and he shouldn't worry."

"I don't think that's what he had in mind when he told us about our homework."

Castle shrugs, not sure yet about their assignment, a little put off by the nervous tension churning in his stomach.

Sender and Receiver. Sounds simple. He speaks, she listens. She speaks, he listens. It's just what they're supposed to say that sounds so. . .

"Lame," she supplies, giving him a raised eyebrow. "I know. I think so too. But."

"But." He takes a cleansing breath. "We should."

"Now?" she asks.

"Uh. Okay."

"Since my dad's got Dash for the rest of the afternoon."

"Yeah, no, you're right. Sounds good. Okay. We're supposed to look at each other when we do."

"Right. So. . ." Kate trails off and he catches the look she throws him.

Yeah, extremely weird. But they can do this. It'll work. "So, let's go to the library."

"The library?" she laughs.

"It's a. . .safe space for both of us. Makes it kinda neutral. We can get one of the private rooms so we can talk but we won't. . ."

"Solve our problems with sex?" she bites out.

He sighs. "I meant that. . .in a good way."

"He agreed with you."

"He didn't agree with me. He said it was another form of communication."

Kate's silent and he squeezes her hand again, waits until she casts her eyes over to him.

"One that you, Kate Beckett, are very good at."

She cracks then, gives him an unwilling smile even as she shakes her head. "Fine. Okay. The library. Sex-free."

"Darn, actually. I have this really hot fantasy of making you-"

"Castle."

"Right. Sex-free."

* * *

"You go first," she says, the moment they enter the room.

"Really?" he whines, but drops into a chair.

She closes the door behind them and glances through the floor-to-ceiling glass windows. She hates doing this in a fishbowl. Kate moves to the table and sits down on top of it, her knee nudging his shoulder.

And then she realizes what she's doing.

He gives her a look, that raised eyebrow that used to be _hers_, but she's already dropping down into a chair and pressing her hands flat against the table. "Sorry. Go."

He flips his palms up, looking at them, and she looks too, can't believe they're really doing couples' therapy homework in their private library - the same place they take Dashiell when Castle has to do research because the kids' section is amazing.

"Take my hands," he prompts, cutting into her thoughts.

She slides her hands on top of his and he squeezes, but lets go, just like the therapist instructed them to do.

"What I appreciate about you," he starts slowly, and if she weren't so good at compartmentalizing, she'd be blushing. This is really ridiculous.

She waits, and he blinks as he looks at her.

"I feel stupid using their words."

She smiles softly at that. "Well, don't think less of me when I have to."

"I won't. I don't." He sighs. "You never stop, Kate. That's one thing I love. It also kills me sometimes, but you won't give up - not on this, us, Dash. The baby. You go after it, you keep going; you don't stop."

She blinks, lets out a long breath. "I thought you-"

"Not-uh. Not how this goes."

She grits her teeth. Right. Okay. "What I hear you saying is that you appreciate my stubbornnes and tendency towards obsession."

"Are you being serious?"

"Are _you_?" she says back.

"Yes. You wanted to do this now. I'm being serious."

"So am I. What-"

"This isn't the homework," he cuts her off. "You're supposed to say what you hear and then I'm supposed to deepen. So hush."

She shuts her mouth and glares at him, not sure this is what their therapist meant.

"This is so special to me because-" He laughs and shakes his head. "Let me try again. Okay. Seriously. It's important that you're stubborn and obsessive because it makes me feel safe."

Her mouth drops open.

His hands quiver under hers; he looks away.

"Castle."

He lifts his eyes, still says nothing.

"What does that mean?"

He shrugs and she feels a strange panic clawing at her chest; she wants to snag back one of her hands and press it against her heart, make sure it's still there. But at that moment, BK elbows her and shifts, and something in her shifts as well.

"Castle. Tell me how. How it makes you feel safe." There is something vital in knowing this. She can't explain it.

"Also - energized, like always ready to go," he says suddenly. "Both."

"Safe. Do safe first."

He huffs a little bit and his hands are fighting to curl, she can tell, because of the way they tremor under hers. But they're not supposed to hold on, just rest.

"It means you won't stop fighting for us. It means you won't give up. And so I can - I'm safe with you."

He doesn't say more, and she knows she won't get more. He has his own ways of shutting down. But that's enough. It's more than she can understand right now, but it means something. It does. He can finally relax; she is here for good.

She's supposed to mirror his comment now, tell what she's heard. "I heard you say that I make you feel safe. I heard. . .you know I won't ever give up on you, Castle."

Both their hands are trembling now, and she goes ahead and breaks the rules.

She pushes herself right into him, wraps her arms around his neck and holds on.

* * *

"Your turn," he murmurs after a moment, and then feels her slowly pull back. Her hands skate down his arms until her palms rest over his, and then without speaking their hands flip positions.

He grins at her and she gives him something a pleased grin back. His hands cover hers completely, and he never realized before how much bigger he is than her.

Well, he has, yes, he has, but-

This is different.

"I appreciate. . ." she starts softly, and then her cheeks flush and she apparently remembers they're supposed to be looking in each other's eyes because she starts over again, looking at him now. "What I appreciate about you, Rick. . ."

He has this instant of quick, dark panic that there's just nothing, absolutely nothing she appreciates, and he feels the ripple of agony that rips at his chest before her mouth opens again and her eyes set as she studies him and finally gets it out.

"You have all the words." She closes her mouth, frowns, opens it again, and the irony inherent in her speechlessness just about cracks him up. But she's still trying, and he stays silent until it's his turn.

Kate sighs, finally turns her gaze down to their hands and he feels her fingers tapping against his wrists, drumming. He bites his lip to keep from speaking out of turn, even though it would ease the way for her, because the therapist was strict about this.

Finally she nods, as if to herself and lifts her head. "I appreciate that you know how to make it make sense, you know how to say the things that should be said and you make it beautiful."

He quirks his lips at her and strokes his fingers over her wrists, unable to help himself. "I hear you saying that you love my writing."

She frowns, deep lines between her eyes and shakes her head. "Castle, no, I-" She stops and takes a breath, looks worried, and he doesn't know why. "Castle. This is special to me. Not just your writing. But having the words to say. . .that's special to me because it means you know me. It means I'm not alone; you're in this too."

He bites the inside of his mouth to keep from clutching at her, tugging her across the table and back into his arms. He can tell she's determined to keep eye contact, and he leans in a little, mirrors her statement.

"I heard you say that my words actually make it through to you," he says finally, clears his throat. "That's - special to me too. Important. Because sometimes I worry that nothing. . ."

"Don't," she says quickly, and she's shaking her head at him. "Now you know. It does get to me. This gets to me. I-"

"Now I know," he echoes, mirroring again he realizes, but now he sees why it's necessary. He has to actually speak the words aloud before he gets it, before it penetrates his dense head. "Kate-"

"No, just. . .leave it at that," she says, her voice quiet but laced with steel. "He said we'll talk about it next week. So. Leave it at that."

He nods, but it's just occurred to him that if she feels she's _not_ alone, then there are times when she's gotten lonely. And he's helped. Somehow - he's been with her even when he didn't know she needed it.

They're not hopeless at all.

* * *

"Thought you were tired?"

Kate shakes her head and curls her hand at his neck, standing over him in his study. He lifts his laptop from his legs and puts it aside.

"Well, I am down for some of your favorite form of communication," he says, jumping to his feet.

She narrows her eyes at him, but lets him draw her in; his hands go to her back, knead the muscles along her spine. She groans and drops her forehead to his chest. "That's good."

"You are tired," he says softly, his mouth at her hair and moving down to brush her temple.

"Yeah, but I want you," she sighs, lacking all artifice when her body is both thrumming for him and on the hysterical edge of exhaustion. "I missed you today."

"Me, or just my hot body?"

"Oh, body. Definitely. And those hands. Ah, yeah, right there, Castle."

He bows over her for leverage, uses his knuckles to dig deep into her back. She tries to relax into it, but her spine arches and she brushes against him as she tries to keep her balance. He grunts and starts moving her back towards their bedroom.

"Come, let's get you to bed. Sleep."

"No sleep tonight," she shakes her head, trying for alluring, but probably falling flat. Last week's therapy session ended poorly, they spent all week being stupidly nasty to each other, but talking - at least there was talking - and she really, painfully misses him.

"Kate-"

"Not right now. I want this first, Castle. When I can have you, I feel like I - have you."

He swallows hard and stares at her, his hands stilling, and she shrugs her shoulders under his arms, tries to get him moving again; she doesn't want to talk about it. No more talking.

He comes in close and seals his mouth over hers, pulls her as close as the bump will allow, drives his thumbs down the side of her spine so that she arches into him again.

She groans into his mouth and suddenly she's already in their bedroom, his hands working at his clothes instead of her back, but that's good too.

That's really good.

* * *

Suddenly he starts chuckling; she lifts an eyebrow at him. He waves a hand as if to apologize and she pauses there, waiting.

When he's still humming and smirking to himself, she pulls away from him and lies on her side, head propped in her hand. "You gonna share with the class?"

"No, sorry, I just. . .something funny."

"Well, obviously," she drawls.

He turns towards her and strokes his hand up her arm. "I was thinking - okay, well, to be honest, not much thinking really. And then this popped into my head. . .I so appreciate your tongue."

Kate cracks up, dropping onto her back on the mattress, pressing her hand to her mouth to keep from giggling.

"What I heard you say," she starts, snorting as he raises up above her, shifts her to her side again. Not supposed to be on her back. "What I heard was you like that thing I do with my tongue."

"Uh-huh. And it's special to me, Beckett-"

She can't hold it back; the laughter bursts out of her and echoes in the room, mixing with the melody of his own as they ease closer, hands touching through the haze of mirth.

"Um, please do continue. It's special to you?"

"It's special to me. I can't even - there are no words for how special."

"How about you return the favor?"

"Do some physical mirroring?" he murmurs, already on the move.

"Lame," she murmurs. "But works for me."

* * *

It's not as hard as she thought. It's actually. . .easy.

Okay, no. It's not easy. It's work. But maybe it's because she's so willing to do the work, and he is too, that when they actually manage to do this - it feels so natural.

She grins at him from over the rim of her coffee mug. He startles, but then he grins back.

"Did we just. . ."

She nods. "Think so."

His turn to be speechless, which is cute, because he gets this dazed look on his face and his hands curl like he needs his computer and _I swear, Kate, only twenty minutes_ to write.

"Go," she says, nodding towards the study.

If possible, his jaw drops even more.

"Go write, Castle," she says, laughing at him. "I told you. I got this."

"Won't make you late?" he says, and she hears it for what it is rather than for what she's always thought it means.

Will she be late to work if she takes Dashiell to preschool? and not _Are you okay being his mom for the next twenty minutes or are you just going to prove all over again that your job is more important?_

"No, won't make me late. And even if it does? I don't care."

He grins back at her, and then they both seem to realize that their exchange now makes that two in a row.

He jumps up from the kitchen table and smacks a kiss to her cheek with a grin much like his son's. "You and I are good at this, babe."

She quirks an eyebrow at him, but he just gets all smug and trails his fingers down her arm, circles her wrist.

"And you know I appreciate you taking him this morning so I can write - that's special to me-"

"Stop being sarcastic," she laughs, knocking his hand away but coming up and grabbing his ear to drag his mouth in close to hers. She kisses him because she wants to, and because, maybe, he wants to as well, and then she lets him go. "You're wasting time. Go write. Because you know I appreciate your words-"

He laughs as he leaves her at the table, his amusement echoing in the room and making Dashiell pop his head out from under the coffee table.

"Daddy?"

"Come with me, my man," she calls out, standing up from the table as well. "Let's get you dressed for preschool."

* * *

He meets her outside the station and she looks huffy, but not at him. At least there's that. Castle hands her the coffee and waits a moment before directing her towards the sidewalk.

"You brought the car?" she says, pressing the coffee cup against her breasts.

He shrugs through the flicker of defensiveness that flares in him, opens the passenger door for her. "You missed the dirty looks I got last week when we had to stand for the whole subway ride. As if being pregnant somehow precluded you from taking public transportation and I was a terrible person to insist on it."

She laughs at that, a puff of air really, but it counts. He'll take it. She's been on her feet all day, even if she is restricted to the 12th; he knows she's stood in front of the murder board. And no, he doesn't like it when they take the subway and she has to stand for the whole ride.

"Time for therapy," she mutters, but she takes his hand when he slides behind the wheel, squeezes.

"How's the case coming?"

"Torturous and slow. How's the novel?"

"Ditto," he grins. "Yay for us. You wanna switch jobs? We were supposed to walk around for a day in each other's shoes for homework, and I really don't think you going to a Black Pawn meeting encompassed the full experience of my day. You can write the book instead."

"Not a good idea. We've already established that I suck at character growth."

He barks out a laugh and turns his head towards her. She's grinning now too, gives him a little shrug.

He pulls out into traffic and realizes with a little jolt that she actually is letting him drive. Not even a comment. Not even a look; it's like she hasn't noticed she's not the one in control.

Ahh, it feels good.

"Guess what, Kate?"

"Chicken butt," she replies back, smirking at him.

He goes ahead and give her a laugh for that, shaking his head. "I think you're taking the 'switch places' thing a little too seriously. Besides, my jokes are not that corny."

"Oh yes they are. Ask your son. _He_ thinks you're hilarious, and he's only two."

"Almost two."

"I was giving you a couple months, so it didn't sound so bad. What am I guessing?"

"Oh. I was _going_ to say that you're actually doing pretty great with character growth, but now. . ."

He trails off and glances over at her; she's pushed her shoes off in the floorboard and has her legs crossed in the seat, the safety belt stretched over her belly. He can't help reaching out and stroking the curve that houses their unborn, can't help being proud of her, of him, of how much stronger their family already is because of these last few months.

"Thanks, Kate."

She presses her hand over his and laces their fingers together. "For what?"

He laughs and keeps his eyes on the traffic - wouldn't do to totally lose her respect behind the wheel. "You have to ask?"

He feels the catch of her breath, and then the vivid motion of the baby beneath their hands; he squeezes her fingers and has to clear his throat a few times before it comes out right.

"I appreciate you, and I hear what you're saying now, but more - more than that, Kate Beckett, I am so proud of us."

She lifts his hand to her lips and her kiss is pressed to the softness of his palm and then sealed between their skins.

When she speaks, it wraps around his heart and settles in. For life.

"Rick. I am so lucky to get to love you."

He hears it. He hears what she's saying.


End file.
